“The word of honor of Sumner L. Delafield!” Jenkins sneered.
The banker’s eyes flashed as he made an impulsive start, but he went on with quiet emphasis: “I give you my word of honor that I knew no more than you what the Melgares woman was going to say when she jumped up. You ought to see yourself that it would have been to my advantage to keep this knowledge entirely in my own hands.”
“Nevertheless,” Jenkins replied sullenly, “you could have prevented her outbreak if you’d wanted to; and if there are any legal proceedings started against me because of what she said I expect you and Dell Baxter to stop them at once. And I want you to give me, before I leave this room, a sum of money or a check equal to what I receive on the first of every month. And understand that this has no connection with that payment, which will come on the first of next month, as agreed. It’s little enough, after this outrage.”
Bancroft glared at his companion for a moment; Jenkins sat up with a defiant look and glared back. The banker turned to his desk and wrote the check without a word. “And the woman’s charge?” the other asked threateningly, as he took it.
“If any action is begun I’ll do my best to stop it.”
Well satisfied with the result, Jenkins hastened down the street, intending to cross over to his hotel at the next bridge and wait in the privacy of his room until train time. As he approached the court-house corner Sheriff Tillinghurst, Little Jack Wilder, Pendleton, and Conrad came out of the building. Curtis saw the hurrying figure, and the light of battle leaped into his eyes. He rushed past the others, and before Jenkins had time to draw his revolver was upon him and had pinioned his arms.
Pendleton ran forward, shouting, “Give it to him, Curt! He deserves it!”
“Jack,” smiled the sheriff, “I reckon this is goin’ to be a sure good scrap, but we don’t need to see it. We’d better hike.” And they disappeared up the side street.
Jenkins was vainly struggling to reach his hip pocket. Conrad got him down, set one knee on his chest, plucked forth the gun, and threw it to Pendleton. “Now, you damned skunk,” he exclaimed, “you’re going to get every lick that’s coming to you! I won’t dirty powder by using my gun on you, but I’m sure going to set the standard for lickings in this town.”
And to this day, in the city of Golden, the pummelling that Rutherford Jenkins forthwith received is spoken of as the utmost measure of punishment that a man may take and live. At the end Conrad took the limp body under one arm and carried it to the physician’s office. “Here, Doc,” he said, “is some work for you. Send the bill to me.”